Too Far
by Sigart
Summary: "It's gone too far! All this... war and... and madness!" He cried, he pleaded, but it was all in vain.


WWII, 1944. Italy defects from the Axis.

Warnings: Ideologically sensitive subjects, a little violence. ...Very little.

* * *

"It's gone too far!" The cry was loud, desperate and ignored aside from a slight twitch of the tall blond's mouth. A twitch downwards, accentuating the frown the man was already wearing.

However, the Italian, the source of the cry, could not see the slight tell, dragged along as he was. He could barely keep up with Germany's long, determined strides, but his slight whimpers every time he was tugged forward went ignored as well.

"G-Germany, listen, it has to stop!" The slight man, slight enough to be mistaken for a boy compared to the other's bulky figure, tried once again to reason with the tall, muscular man who was dragging him along. "All th-this," he continued, voice thick and wet with tears. "All this... war and... and madness! Germany, please!"

The blond remained silent, stoically forcing his prisoner along, ignoring pleas and reasoning alike. "And all those poor people, Germany, there are so many, who're dying! So many, and, and, and for what? It's... I can't... Please understand, I just... can't-.." his monologue was abruptly interrupted as a particularly hard tug from the German caused him to lose his balance and fall forward, already torn trousers gaining crimson stains as his knees impacted with the cobblestones of the road. He cried out, falling to his side, so his weight would instead lie on his hip.

Finally, when it became clear that the little Italian didn't intend to get up again, Germany turned, staring down at the crying brunette disapprovingly. He was lying on his side, his once pristine and flattering outfit dirtied and torn, hair in disarray, that one odd curl seeming limp and disheartened, hands tied tightly together with coarse rope one end of which was held securely in Germany's hand. The area around the rope was red, revealing that the skin underneath was probably rubbed raw. "And so, what if I stop? If I negotiate for peace? Surrender? What then? I'd rather _die_ than surrender to those pigs again. I'd rather die a thousand times over than being so helpless and... and..." He cut himself short, intensifying his glare as though he was blaming the covering nation on the ground for making him think of something unpleasant.

"But..." North Italy sobbed. "But at least... the camps, Germany, please! All those _people_! And they're dying, they're so many and Belarus, you're _killing_ her and Ukraine and Poland and Greece and France and-.."

"Enough!" He was unexpectedly, suddenly, in Italy's face and Italy realized belatedly that his friend (former friend?) had dragged him up by the collar, so his feet was barely touching the ground. "It cannot be helped, they're... it's... they're impure! And it's their own fault, and..." He faltered, seeming just a bit unsure, just a bit like the indeed very young nation that he really was.

"Germany..." Italy breathed, sympathy leaking into his eyes. "Are you... you're not even sure yourself, are you? If... if you don't agree with your boss you should just do what I did, right? I think it will also make it easier for you to surrender, and-.."

"NO!" He shook the smaller nation, enraged once again. "He's a good man, he cares."

"But..."

"Mussolini is at my place," Germany said, voice strained, fighting to get himself back under control. "When I get you there, you can try and explain yourself."

"But.. he's a bad person..."

"Hitler is not bad!" the blond exploded, throwing the smaller man away. The brunette hit a lamp post with a pitiful sound and crumbled to the ground, unconscious. "He _cares_! He saved me, he... he..." Germany deflated, staring listlessly at the unmoving Italian he used to call friend. He neared, collecting the rope once again, just in case it was a trap. Not that he thought the Italian was that shrewd, but the war had taught him paranoia and it had saved him before. Kneeling next to Mediterranean nation, he offered a cursory examination, finding blood in his hair, though hardly enough to warrant any real worry. Besides, head wounds always bled a lot. He snorted, annoyed with himself for losing his temper. Italy had surrendered to the Allies, proving himself a traitor. He wasn't worth his concern and his opinions wasn't valid and... and he probably hadn't even been talking about Hitler, had he? With another snort, he hoisted the slight man up onto his shoulder, letting his body hang limp as he carried the other to the meeting with his and the traitor's own boss.

* * *

Okay, uh, I... don't personally agree with this Germany's opinions as expressed here ^_^; But I do feel he had a good reason to feel that way, considering his situation. In the 20s, hyper-inflation hit the German mark, making it pretty much worthless. Bank notes were burned for warmth rather than buying food or fuel, that's how worthless they were. People, when getting their monthly pay, -ran- to the store to stock up on food because that's how fast prizes rose. In Berlin, a foreigner could buy -anything- for an American dollar, -anything-, and people of all stations whored themselves just to get food on the table, even generals. ...There's a splendid documentary on youtube about it, though it focuses more on how the situation made Berlin into the foremost city of eroticism and freedom of sexual expression and creativity rather than, well, poverty and despair It's called Sin Cities of the World. I think it's Part 2 that's Berlin (the others were Shanghai and, surprise, Paris). Also, Humon has begun a comic on DA about it.

As for the story, I cannot possibly be the only one who thinks it fit Hetalia a little too well that when Italy surrendered to the Allies in '44, Germany promptly conquered Northern Italy? XD I mean, sure, the only reason he didn't conquer all of Italy was because the Allies got in the way, but still~!

I would -really- love to know what everyone thought of Germany here, so please share your thoughts!


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